the angels left this city
by Carving Stars
Summary: And if Magnus likes California only because Alec reminds him of its summers—well, he won't be telling him that. Malec, set after CoG, full warnings inside.


_**Summary: **_And if Magnus likes California only because Alec reminds him of its summers—well, he won't be telling him that. Malec, set after CoG, full warnings inside.

_**Warnings: **_Magnus and Alec's relationship is established, since the kiss scene has happened. And, while their relationship is established, Alec's still a bit of a rookie. They've left New York for a vacation, to calm down, so Alec can heal from Max's death. Basically all you need to know is that this fic is full of Malec, a different state, returns to L.A., some angst, and smut.

_**Notes: **_The characters mentioned in this and the series they belong to are not mine—Cassandra Clare holds all claims. Also, the title and excerpts of lyrics are taken from Boys Like Girls' ever wonderful song "Leaving California."

**the angels left this city**

_I can't stand another sunrise and I need a little rain__._

_Well, the angels left this city and they won't be back again._

Magnus hates California. He hates the decaying city of Santa Monica, hates the crumbling city of Los Angeles, hates the ruined city of Laguna Beach. He hates the way each and every city is all lit up with bright lights, violent neons and vivid hues that don't belong in this century, that belong in a century yet to come, or in a century past, as if to distract one from the crashing and burning of California. But Alec loves it, loves California and all its false grandeur, and Magnus loves Alec, so he pretends he loves California too. And he _may_ like it, maybe, for all of its heat and fun and quick summer romances that hang heavy, suspended, drawn out, in the air; he may be able to tolerate the state and its cities because Alec's laughing and he's got sunglasses on with his gear off, in the passenger seat of a car Magnus won't tell him where or how he got, his breaking family miles away, New York and its own lies behind him.

And if Magnus likes California only because Alec reminds him of its summers—well, he won't be telling him that.

_One more dream around a runaway drive._

_Now there's one less burned out star in the sky._

Magnus presses his lips in careful, private kisses to Alec's skin, following the notches that make up his spine, until he's a shivering, pleading, begging mess beneath him, his eyes closed fast, Magnus' name slipping from his mouth, unguarded, body spun tight with need, as the delayed traffic of all that shimmers and gleams in L.A. soaks in through the walls, the night's wind whistles into the hotel's opened windows, passes through their temporary home as if it is a haunting, haunted ghost.

And when Alec pulls Magnus to him, kisses him as if he's sure he's never going to see him again, Magnus lets him. He holds him, fingers grabbing at his hair, catching and pulling, because Magnus doesn't want to let Alec go. He doesn't want to watch him leave, even though he knows that, someday, he will.

_There's a broken dream in Santa Monica, crushing night._

_And that old movie, well, it's got in my way tonight._

They leave Los Angeles behind, say farewell to the city of angels' glitz and glam, underground drugs and painted happiness, ready for the city of Santa Monica. It isn't a long drive, but Alec's acting like it is: he has his thick hunting boots up on the dashboard, singing quietly along to some song he's only just learned, watching Magnus with those blue eyes Magnus still has trouble discovering.

And when Magnus tells him, carefully soft, at a stoplight that seems to lead into forever that his eyes, his hair, reminds him of someone he knew a long time ago – during the eighteen hundreds when London was at its peak – Alec leans over to him in the driver's seat and kisses him, just as soft, just as careful, as his confession, because he understands as well as he can—immortality is a burden, not a gift; and, sometimes, Magnus can't stand being alive another day.

_And the lights are in the rear view and the stars up in the sky__._

_And I don't know where I'm going, baby, but it's time to say goodbye__._

Magnus can't stand being in Santa Monica, and Alec figures it out. The lights faze him, much more so than Los Angeles' did, and the people there are just as false as their city. So they head on over to Laguna Beach, passing through Torrance and Long Beach along the way, and find themselves cramped into a small hotel room where the only thing they can see, can hear, can taste, can feel, is each other.

They spend three nights in Laguna Beach, plan on staying longer until Jace interrupts their placid peace, Magnus' cellphone blaring a ringtone Alec was meant to hear, but he laughs and answers the call himself. But Jace tells him that Maryse is getting worried, Robert's getting distant, tells him that he and Isabelle don't know what to do, that he himself tries to get lost in Clary's kisses but can only think of Max in such a morbid, twisted way, Sebastian's blow going straight through his little body, unprepared to fight a monster at such a young, unprotected age, that he almost gets sick each time. He says Clary will try to hold him, but he pushes her away (_of course I push her away, _he adds a little sadly, _I always push people away_) and when Alec tells him that Max hasn't left his mind either, will never leave his mind, no matter how much fun he's having with Magnus, Jace says he wants Alec home.

And when Alec tries to tell him no, Jace's sudden veiled apologies overlapping his refusal, Magnus takes the phone from his hand. He tells Jace they'll – Alec – will be back, back home, soon, but they'll be making another stop in Los Angeles because what better place is there for a boy, a descendant of an angel, to thrive in a city named after and filled with ones?

_I'm a goodbye kiss and then I'm going, going, gone._

_Like wind, like fire, like rain, know I'm never coming back again._

They're back in Los Angeles and this time, their second time in the city, their second time in the same grand room of the hotel Magnus will never be able to remember the name of, they find their rhythm: Alec's panting out his name, clawing, ripping at the sheets, and Magnus can't help but feel like this is going to end all too soon as he kisses, traces, the remnants of old runes carved into Alec's skin.

Magnus was wanting it, so close to pleading too, and Alec was begging for it, saying _please, Magnus, please, please hurry, please be quick_, so when Magnus slammed the room's door shut with his body, he didn't complain. He wrapped his legs around Magnus' waist, rolled and rutted and stuttered up against him as if he felt that their time is running out too, until Magnus got him on to the bed, clothes gone without a sound, without a spell.

And when Magnus is sure that Alec's about to tell him _I love you, I love you_, he shuts him up with a fierce kiss, as hot and as sultry as the city during the heat of the day, shuts him up with the sharp snap of a lid and the tearing, ripping sound of a package being torn open in a hurry. But Magnus is sure he feels Alec whisper the words into his skin, into a kiss, as Alec comes, Magnus not far behind him, and he's not sure if he can go on like this, loving a mortal (a Shadowhunter, no less) that will only ruin him in the end. He's not sure he can go on loving someone who will leave him behind, gone away to a place where he can't be, where he can't follow.

_Now I'm leaving California _

_and I'll never look back._

Magnus can tell that Alec doesn't want to leave California, that he doesn't want to go back home (a place Magnus is sure will never feel like home, never again, if it even had in the first place), so he presses him up against the hot, contracting metal of the car's hood and kisses away the disease that is New York City and Manhattan all rolled up into one from his lips.

And when they break away, Alec is blushing, on the brink of being furious, but he's smiling and Magnus finds that he always wants to remember Alec like this, wants to remember him mumbling and fidgeting, pulling at his sleeves and looking down, looking away, but smiling in a stupidly pleased way. Magnus finds that, if he can keep one memory of their time together, he wants it to be this: the time he watches Alexander Lightwood unravel, leaving California behind him with a goodbye on his lips.


End file.
